Home is Behind, the World Ahead
He had noticed him when the men dragged him into his father’s halls.
A ragged-looking man dressed in black and leather, an empty hilt hanging from his waist and a quiver on his back with no arrows. He wore a cloak with a hood which covered his face and fine leather boots which were well-made for man’s work. Decorated in few adornments, with only a ring that meant nothing and an earring in his left ear, he was not a remarkable man to be sure. After all, his father had been in the company of kings, stewards, and great warriors from man’s armies.
What was a Ranger to any of them?
Yet the image of the man stayed in his mind. Sitting in the library - his own, coveted hall - he ran delicately pale fingers over the parchment paper of the book, his grey eyes distant and thoughtful. His brother, who often shared in his company when in the library, was muttering to himself as he translated Dwarfish text, long hair falling out of the tie he kept it in and decorated crown - made to separate him from regular scholars - currently sitting on the desk next to his quickly moving hands.
“What do you make of the Ranger, brother?”
“What?” The two looked at each other, the older curious and the younger distracted. “I think nothing of him, Alandruil - why? Is he still in your thoughts?”
“Yes,” he admitted, closing his book and putting it to the side. He stood, straightening out his sleeves and making his way out of the library. “Good luck on your translating.”
“Don’t bother with the man, brother!” his younger brother called after him. “He’s not even important!”
The elvish prince ignored his words, however, making his way down quiet halls and steep sets of stairs until he reached the guest wing of his father’s home. Smiling at a few of the servants milling around, he stopped in front of the only door that was closed, hesitating for but a moment before reaching out and knocking.
“Come in.”
Opening the door, he slipped inside soundlessly and looked over to see the Ranger sitting in the window seat.
Now that he had removed his cloak, he could see him more clearly. Hair cut short, even for a man, the colour of sandy beaches; freckles that dotted his skin like raindrops on the ground; scars that he hid with high collars and long sleeves, yet he could still see the pale hints criss-crossing his skin. He was well-built and looked to be young; a youth only now in his prime, most likely. Hazel-green eyes stared at him with open curiousity, and Alandruil remembered himself.
“I apologize for the unexpected visit. I just wished to see how you found the rooms.”
“A very comfortable cage, my lord,” the Ranger said with a smile, standing up slowly. He was of his height, perhaps even taller. Strange, for a man to be taller than an elf; that did not happen often. “Might you be the son to the king here?”
“Alandruil,” he bowed his head, closing his eyes before looking back at him. “What is your name, Ranger?”
“…Most just call me boy, or Ranger. My comrades call me Walker. My mother called me by my name, and that was Zebediah.” Zebediah swept him a bow, almost mocking, before straightening. “I could never get my tongue around Elvish names - is there a nickname I can call you?”
“…Allen,” he said slowly, looking at Zebediah with open curiousity and fascination. “A few close friends used to call me Allen, and you may do so if you wish.” Zebediah grinned and nodded, looking pleased with the permission; his expression caused a slight smile to come to Allen’s lips, as well. “Do you find this place a cage?”
“When you’re used to sleeping under the stars and eating what you can catch, anything with four walls becomes a cage, Allen,” Zebediah said with a shrug, turning away from him and looking out the window again. “Once your father decides what to do with me - and it’ll probably be let me go, ‘cause I’m no one important - then I’ll go off back where I belong. Find my horse, probably, blasted thing she is.”
“And then?”
“…and then do what Rangers do.” Zebediah turned back to him, smiling vaguely. “Perhaps even go home, see how my old ma’s doing. See some old friends, make some new ones. Kill a few orcs.” He shook his head, shrugging bird-like and folding his hands behind his back. “Why do you ask, my lord? Curiousity? Or a longing for something different?”
But Allen did not have the time to answer, as one of his father’s messengers came to the door and requested the Ranger’s presence in the meeting hall. Giving Allen a serious bow, then, Zebediah walked past him, slowing down as he neared his side and murmuring words only the prince could hear.
“I’ll be leaving at sunset. I would not be adverse to company.”
He disappeared, leaving Allen alone with his thoughts and Zebediah’s offer to keep him company.